Progressive Manners

In the photos in both articles the husband looks like he’s crying inside.

[ Slides drinks voucher along bar. ]
After lunch. 😉

Either way, it’s all about her.
It does invite a suspicion that Mommy thinks she deserves raw material, and attention, more than she thinks her family should be functional – and not, say, humiliated or neurotic.
Still, could be worse.

In other news, I believe the expression is shots fired.

I rarely sympathise with these types, but at least she’s stayed with hubby for nine years and counting of their child’s life. It could be worse.
It is surprising that she has not realised the solution to her only child problems is really very straightforward….
Also, no wonder she rescued her faltering marriage – she is punching well above her weight with that chap.

…we consider a movie. Sylvie proposes “Escape From New York,”…
TBF, if the kid is thinking that might provide an exit strategy for her from her idiot parents, she is a bright kid.
As family psychologists such as Dr. Carl E. Pickhardt, Ph.D., point out, only children often feel like one of the adults.
Well, if a Dr. PhD says it, it must be true, on the other hand, “I never met a sprog who didn’t understand a slap in the face or a slug from a .45”, to paraphrase*. In all seriousness, if you don’t lay down the law early, establish rules and discipline, what the hell do you think is going to happen ?
Tom and I have fully enabled Sylvie to feel like one of the gang, because we go almost everywhere as a trio. We’re usually too cheap to hire babysitters,…As a result, Sylvie has gotten used to being included…
There you have it, you are rubbish parents; the offense rests.
*(“Play it again Sam” Bogart character…)

Regarding the second article, you do have to wonder whether publicly shaming your own husband, by name, at length and in print, with a photo, in a national newspaper
One of the frustrating things about enjoying cooking is that Facebook recipe groups are about 1% recipes and 99% overprivileged middle-aged housewives publicly shaming their husbands. This isn’t a terribly rare phenomenon nor one restricted to the kinds of women who become journalists.

In other other news, I’ll just leave this here, I think.
Well, of course…
Self awareness is not something progressives possess in spades, is it.

but this ad campaign is a total mystery.
Previously, and less dramatically, known as people with very low libidos. Or possibly, chronic masturbators.

By the way, has anyone here been watching the HBO/Sky mini-series Chernobyl…? I’ve been told it’s rather good, albeit, understandably, somewhat grim.

Seems like all women want these days, is to destroy lives. Husbands, children, infanticide, by any means necessary.
I occasionally do volunteer work mentoring youth and a kid I briefly was working with, via DCF, had been put in a foster home, fortunately a foster home of family friends, because his mother and father were going through a bitter separation. This kid was 15 years old. Speaking with the foster mother, who knew both parents, she implied that the mother was making trouble for the husband through the kid. Fortunately things got resolved after only a couple of weeks of my working with him and he was able to see his father again. It was heart breaking to see this kid put up a brave face but seriously missing contact with his father. Once the court case was worked out and he was able to see his dad again, he was so happy. Granted #NotAllWomen but the more I see stuff like this, the more it scares the hell out of me how close that nutcase Hillary, with all her issues, got to being given leadership of the most powerful economic and military power in history.

Her whole twit feed is a study in psychopathology
As we’ve seen, Ms Rao is not well, and most likely never will be. Some kinds of damage you just can’t undo. Assuming anyone were inclined to get close enough to attempt it.

And yes, the family does live in Brooklyn. And no, they don’t share a surname. And yes, the adults have availed themselves of professional counselling services.
Lol. Three for three.

And yes, the adults have availed themselves of professional counselling services.
And it went something like this:
“Do you feel dominated by your wife?”
“No he doesn’t!”

I like the orange dress.

When I was growing up, I would never have dreamed of sharing anything remotely personal with my parents … I wanted a different kind of relationship with our daughter.
This feels very 1970’s in its thought process and in what it’s presenting as innovative or quirky. Not entirely the 1970’s I grew up in, or that she grew up in, but the 1970’s of progressive New Yorkers as depicted in films and TV shows of that time. I can imagine Diane Keaton and Alan Alda cast as the parents who share the confidences of their marriage therapy at dinner parties, because there shouldn’t be any boundaries between a married couple and their friends; and Tatum O’Neal or Jodie Foster as the precocious child who “notices” things, and whose knowledge of anatomical terms shocks the stork-and-baby prudes.

Ah, the City of Angels.

but it occurs to me that not taking your husband’s surname, ostensibly as some Great Feminist Statement – … – creates complications.
It creates complications for the most mundane of things to. Pick up a pizza, whose name is it in? Loyalty account at retail store, whose name is it in? My wife kept her own surname because–feminism, the patriarchy, etc.–she now says if she’d known what a pain-in-the-ass it would be she wouldn’t have done it. When she signs up for things now she gives my surname.

it’s all about her.
When do we get to hear what dad thinks?
It is better to dwell in a corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.
Prov 21:9
But, you know.

anyone here been watching the HBO/Sky mini-series Chernobyl…?
Perhaps I’ve grown too cynical, but I see this as battlespace prep by lefties for the “if you want clean energy then why not nuclear?” question they will face by the few greens left in their movement that actually care about protecting the environment.
Anyone who’s looked into the subject realizes that the risks of nuclear power in reality do not at all match the narrative. For most of my life I thought of nuke plants as a bunch of Homer Simpsons one nap away from ending the world…until I read about the actual deaths associated with the worst disasters. Perhaps focusing on the nuclear aspect of the Chernobyl disaster was the Watermelons’ tactic to distract from the horrifyingly inept fruits of Soviet communism.

To be fair, according to this writeup:

“Chernobyl” producer Craig Mazin responded to my review to say “Our show is NOT going to show birth defects.”

So yes, the show could very well be an accurate portrayal.

LEFTIST 1: “Chernobyl is just like Trump!”
CONSERVATIVE: “No, it’s not, because the ideologies in question are polar opposites.”
LEFTIST 2: “Damned conservatives and their obsession with Trump!”
SAM: [ Continues desperate search for dimensional exit from Clown World ]

And I’ll thank you not to judge me.
Too late. Fortunately the judgement is “mostly harmless”:-D.

“If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball”, but you can’t dodge Clown Quarter “researchers”.

Thousands of academics are gathering in Vancouver for the annual Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences from June 1-7. They will present papers on everything from child marriage in Canada to why dodgeball is problematic…a trio of education theorists will argue that dodgeball is not only problematic, in the modern sense of displaying hierarchies of privilege based on athletic skill, but that it is outright “miseducative.”…Dodgeball is a tool of “oppression.”

RTWT…

I’m not a fan of dodgeball, for the reasons mentioned, that the bigger kids use the game to pick on the weaker kids, but I’m inclined to put the blame on gym teachers who sit there with their noses in a book—or, these days, a phone—instead of supervising their uncivilized little charges. Dodgeball COULD be used as a way to teach sportsmanship. “Ethan, the reason I’m taking you out of the game for the rest of this month is you deliberately broke Poindexter’s glasses. You think about whether you want to play like a gentleman next month, or keep sitting it out.”

Why anyone in the UK, with all the fine beers to be had, would drink Budweiser (not to be confused with the Czech Budweiser Budvar) remains a mystery . . .
Apparently there’s a market for sake that’s really badly made, made really badly, something of the sort.

Dodgeball?? I thought it was banned outright sometime in the 20th century.
You mean to tell me it’s still played in some public school phys ed class… Will wonders never cease?

Heh…

There’s a lot of mystery surrounding hump fat. After locating camel milk and hump-fat purveyor Desert Farms’s website and ordering a 14-ounce jar of their “Hump Fat,” I tried to get in touch with someone who could tell me more about the ingredient. I sent an email to the company’s press email address and got no reply. I called the company’s phone number, which was an answering service that eventually directed me to the press office’s line, where I was met with a voicemail instructing me to write to the press email address. No reply. So I engaged Facebook Messenger and asked Dester Farms if I could get someone on the phone to answer a few questions about the fat. The representative I got in touch with eventually gave me a different company email address. The reply I received from a representative at that email address said nothing other than to reach out again the following day. I did, and have not yet gotten a reply.

https://www.myrecipes.com/extracrispy/adventures-in-cooking-with-camel-hump-fat

Clearly the only way to settle this is with a Muldoon/Ream dodgeball grudge match. Clear the floor!
The bikers want to know if they can play…

This is a pernicious myth that generations of ABC afterschool specials and books aimed at nerdy kids have been promulgating:…
Except that I predate by more than a few years ABC after school specials and books aimed at nerdy kids and was one (being a new boy and hence an outsider and target) of the organizers of the indoor PE period dodgeball resistance.
The Pawn Sacrifice was:
a) Grab as many of the grapefruit sized balls as possible before the two or three assholes who infected the other team got them thus leaving them with the regulation sized ones which were easier to dodge and/or didn’t hurt.
b) Pick a volunteer to be bait (we had no shortage of bait volunteers because being hit early meant you were out of the game and could cool your heels the rest of the period), while the assholes were concentrating on creaming him, everyone on our side of truth, justice, and the American way, previously dispersed with the rest of the team, converged and nailed them with the little balls that stung like hell.
The Gandhi Variation was to rush the line (we tried walking but that involved having the ex-Navy CPO PE teacher in our faces and pushups) making no move to throw a ball and get picked off in the first wave so we could screw off the rest of the period.
In the first case, the assholes, being easy to taunt, fell for it every time till they got eventually tired of it, in the second, the assholes, and everyone else on the other side eventually stopped picking us off first and it devolved into an ordinary game.
There were other ploys, regardless, it is actually a good indoor PE activity as it involves running, throwing, jumping, and all the dodging (when we weren’t screwing off) good for agility.

dodgeball is not only problematic, in the modern sense of displaying hierarchies of privilege based on athletic skill,
Um, I thought that was the point of sports?
Last I looked, the Olympics isn’t giving all participants a trophy just for showing up and waving to the crowd at the opening ceremonies.

was one (being a new boy and hence an outsider and target)
“Being the new kid” and “being the gamma” aren’t synonymous.
Wouldn’t it have been fun to watch Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone have a dodgeball grudge match?
Flynn was a terrible – by which I mean dangerous – stage fencer. He was sufficiently wild that they paired him with Rathbone repeatedly because Rathbone, being an excellent fencer, was one of the only actors who could fence with Flynn and not get hurt.

Sometimes we didn’t have a ball to play dodgeball outside of school… so Red Rover was the game (which I’m sure would put some of these researchers into apoplexy)

Going back to the surname thing, if father tries to board an airplane with a nine year old girl who doesn’t share his surname, the airline will hit the big red panic button.

“Hump Fat” sounds like an excellent name for a Hong Kong porn film star.

I think Spanish surnames do this already? I’m sure I’ve come across father-mother named individuals. When they marry the mothers’ names are dropped and they become mr & mrs mansfather-womansfather. It’s a long time since I had Spanish friends, may be this is an old custom since abandoned. In any case the abandonment of the mothers’ names would be unacceptable to feminists.

“Being the new kid” and “being the gamma” aren’t synonymous.
No, but having been skipped a grade I was a year younger and smaller than my classmates at the time, the size issue having been corrected by the passage of time and natural hormonal factors which solved that problem. In the interim, however, the techniques (and others) above achieved the goal of thwarting the assholery even if it was only by being put out early – they can’t pick on you if you aren’t there (tactical withdrawal, as it were) – and not the sweet sound of one of the small dodgeballs smacking someone in the face. Accidentally, of course, that was out of bounds.
I’m sure I’ve come across father-mother named individuals.
I was going to suggest a similar Icelandic tradition of using both a matronymic and patronymic (e.g., Gunnar Helgasson Bjornsson or his sister, Helka Helgasdottir Bjornsdottir) but these days, when there is often no clue who the father is, I guess that wouldn’t fly.

I have heard of some writers, and others in careers where name recognition matters, keeping their names when they marry.
Also, gay couples.

TimT: My number 1 daughter-in-law when she married number 1 son kept her own (Chinese) name — and no worries, she speaks perfect English. However their son has his dad’s (and therefore my) surname and it doesn’t seem to cause complications. But then we live ‘Oop North’ and we don’t have much time for complications: we leave that to our southern softy friends who can dwell on these things with a passion 🙂

I’m hoping in a few generations we shall have great grandchildren with colossal pseudo-royal mitteleuropa surnames.
The name and signature boxes on forms will have to be enlarged. It’s a looming stationary crisis, I tell you.

She has to take my name as a middle name as an almost hyphen, so going from e.g. Lucia Borgia to Lucia Smith Borgia.
This mostly derives from the ancient Roman convention of praenomen nomen filiation cognomenae tribus. There’s a reason many Romans eventually ended up being known largely through nickname slike Quintus (“fifth”).

There’s a reason many Romans eventually ended up being known largely through nickname slike Quintus (“fifth”).
I believe the official custom was to name them in number of birth, in fact. Hence all those Quintuses and Tertiuses (fourth) and so on you see mentioned in Latin literature.
From my reading of the Icelandic sagas, what you seem to inherit as an old Icelandic person is 1) a conventional name, ‘Njal’ or something like that, there seem to be only a limited store of them 2) a last name (your father’s name plus ‘son’, or your mother’s name plus ‘dotter’) and 3) a whopping great genealogy. Every Icelandic saga begins: “There was a man named X, he was the son of …. the son of…. the son of… the son of…” Presumably you’d get an ale horn whacked over your head if you started a saga off and omitted the all-important genealogy. That way madness lies. But nicknames came into it as well. So you get blokes like “Erik the Red” (let me guess – he had red hair?) or “Egil One-Hand”.
Then again, there may be new patronymic practices developing…. according to a joke I heard, a westy Sydney mum goes into Centrelink (social welfare) to collect her dole:
“How many children do you have?” says the social welfare worker.
“Four”, she says. “They’re Shane, Shane, Shane, and Shane.”
“But don’t you have any problems with that?” says the worker.
“Nah,” says the westy mum. “Frinstance, if I want to call them for dinner, I just have to stick me head out the window and say, ‘Shaaaaaaaane! Get ya arse in here!'”
“But what if you want to tell them apart?” says the worker, baffled now.
“That’s even easier! I just call them by their dad’s last name!”

It’s a looming stationary crisis, I tell you.
Stationary, what of the embroidered monogram industry ? Might take up a whole tea towel, and on a shirt extend onto the sleeve. Whole new machines will need to be built, larger hoops for the hand embroiderers, the logistical problems are endless.

…twee ID labeling…
More “twee” embroidery from camp…

—you really can’t help yourself, can you ?

…twee ID labeling…
More “twee” embroidery from camp…
Oh, My, if you really are unable to tell the difference between working adults and that lowest class lot that Must Be Seen Showing Monograms, then you really do need to go upstairs and see what there is outside of your grandmother’s basement . . . .

Think along the lines of Daenarys Chrystelle Murphy-Bolger or LaShawn Jayden O’Donnell-Byrne rather than Quentin Maximillian Fortescue- Psshaw.
She Don’t Use Jelly

We aren’t having kids for another year or two, but we like Kellyna Nychole, Taryn Mykah and Mykenzie Kathryn for girls.
This woman was indicted under the Flagrant Over-Use of the Letters K and Y Act of 1983.

Yet, curiously, you are the one could only think of summer camp. . . .
Glory, hallelujah, behold, we have a clairvoyant among us, who effortlessly reads all of our minds!!!
For lack of a table, will you be tapping on the bar next to thus divine your next drink order?

Hal, he’s right. Your comment was incoherent.

I’ll review the bidding for you Hal, as you are of the logic impaired community:
a) semi-tongue in cheek discussion turns to double barreled names which could turn into triple, or quadruple barreled names;
b) David makes comment about how such will affect the stationary industry;
c) I add on with the embroidery industry.
At this point you had two options:
1) Add on, for example, “What of the poor sods at summer camp with their names completely around around the waistband of their underwear?”;
2) That, of course, would have required you to have a sense of humor, instead, you opt for being your usual pompous self and make another absolutist statement, and I quote: “that’s still only going to be a concern for those being sent off to summer camp…” (you might want to look up what “only” means). This is followed by a HalClassic™ mini rant about how you are too good ever to wear anything embroidered because anything embroidered is “twee”.
At this juncture I post a picture of a multicam or OCP name tape to show decidedly non-twee embroidery.
Once again, you were presented with the options:
1) Say something along the lines “OK, yeah, a problem for them too” (it actually is a problem with long names);
2) Drop the subject;
3) Go into full HalMode™ and furiously look up on google what I posted a photo of, followed by an irrelevant link to AR 670-1 (there is a PAM that goes with that, BTW), followed by your typical definition shifting where your previous statement about “only” for one group suddenly also means a bunch of others to include “hipsters”, about whom you have a peculiar pathology, and more of your links to your own rants that you think proves your point (Pro Tip: it never does) while beating your chest and strutting like the proverbial pigeon on the chessboard.
It is OK to admit you are wrong, Hal, but as you have skin so thin it can’t be seen with an electron microscope, you instead go on trying to demonstrate that monograms are a “lowest class pretention” by once again quoting your 1700+ word delusional flight of ideas.
“Lowest classes” – right, this will come as a surprise to one Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Mountbatten-Windsor, whose monogram (not her cypher) is below.

As I have said, get a new shtick, you don’t have to do the same thing every damn time.

Where’s Bagel Street?
Thanks. Maybe I should seek out more of their comedies.